Alien Chronicles 1 - The Golden One (34 page)

Terrified, Ampris turned back and ran in the direction he wanted. He kept pace with her, yelling as though to urge her on faster.

More Gorlicans were waiting a short distance ahead, perched on the top rail in a huddle, making tallies on hand-held data screens. At her approach, they scattered and ran to open another gate.

Going through it, Ampris turned and ran down a smaller chute, then through yet another gate, and another, until she was driven out into a large circular pen of smooth welded mesh topped with the same material.

Behind her the gate slammed shut and was bolted. The Gorlicans yelled in satisfaction and ran back toward the chutes.

Breathing hard—more from fear than from exertion—Ampris realized they were through with her for the moment. She looked around, trying to steady herself, and saw that the pen held a central mound of fresh straw and a few scattered pails of water. Around the perimeter stood five benches cut from heavy blocks of stone and carved with graffiti. A few of the pen’s occupants sat on them. The rest stood huddled in small groups at the opposite side from Ampris.

No one looked at her.

Finding this odd, she frowned and started to walk toward them. Then she stopped herself and veered away toward a deserted section of the pen. She remembered what had happened to her in the transport. It was better if she kept to herself.

Her legs were trembling. Crouching with her back to the fence, Ampris hugged herself and fought back her tears. She sensed this was not a place to show vulnerability. And yet, again and again through her mind flashed images of Israi’s pretty apartment in the palace, the soothing, distant splashing of the fountains, the clean, polished stone floors, the well-trained slaves that were unobtrusive and silent, the fragrant scents of flowers and perfumes. How long had it been—an hour, two hours since she’d been ripped from her safe world? She’d lost all track of time.

Here, a foul stench hung over the chutes and pens that stretched on one side as far as she could see. On the other side, gray stone walls rose in a grim, solid barrier. Cries of misery rose from the other pens. In the distance, the Gorlicans yelled and banged their staffs ceaselessly.

Surveillance scanners swiveled constantly from every angle, keeping watch. A Gorlican handler walked diagonally across the top of her pen, alarming Ampris until she realized he was just a guard.

More slaves came through the chutes. Most of them surged past the pen containing Ampris. She didn’t want to watch, and yet she couldn’t help herself.

The sorting and unloading went on all day. Now and then, the gate to Ampris’s pen opened and a slave or two were pushed inside, but most of the new arrivals went into other pens farther down the row.

As the day progressed, the noise grew louder. Clouds of dust left a haze in the air. The slaves either stood quietly, their heads low in subjection, or paced restlessly, shouted, and banged on the fences.

No one came with food until sunset. By then Ampris was so ravenous she abandoned her sense of caution and rushed forward with the others to a long metal trough. Gorlicans dumped pails of food into the trough and jeered while the slaves jostled and fought over the best pieces.

Ampris, being younger and smaller than most, had trouble elbowing her way through the crowd, but she finally reached the trough and peered into it eagerly.

It held scraps of half-rotted food, produce past its prime, hunks of stale bread, and meat globes.

Repulsed, Ampris drew back. A Zrhel pushed her aside with a greasy wing and began to pick over the food rapidly, nibbling a sample, then tossing it back into the trough. He picked up something else and tasted it, swore, tossed it back in, and reached for another piece.

Ampris stared in disgust, losing the rest of her appetite. “Must you do that?” she asked.

The Zrhel ignored her, nibbling and scratching itself. It dropped a few feathers in the trough and did not pick them out.

“Get away!” Ampris shouted at him. “You’re ruining the food. Have you no manners?”

The Zrhel turned his head to stare straight into her eyes. Beneath a bald, domed head his face was pinched and intelligent, with keen, defiant eyes above a hooked nose. Still meeting her gaze, he belched loudly, then turned his attention back to picking through the food.

Ampris backed away, leaving the Zrhel alone at the trough. She crossed the pen, and some of the others laughed at her.

One female Kelth was gnawing on a rock-hard crust of bread. She grinned at Ampris. “Get your food before the Zrhel reaches the trough. You’ll learn.”

Ampris returned to her solitary spot, her stomach growling in frantic insistence. Trying to ignore her misery, she sank down and stared at the stars beginning to twinkle in the spring sky overhead.

It was a long, lonely night.

The next day, more slaves arrived and were crowded into the pens. Ampris watched the proceedings, telling herself this nightmare had to end soon. Surely the Kaa would relent and allow her to go home.

But every time the gate to her pen opened, it was to push in more arrivals. No one came for her.

Ampris’s spirits drooped, but she told herself to trust in Israi. Surely the sri-Kaa would find a way to get her back.

By afternoon, however, she wasn’t quite as sure. Exhausted and hot from sitting in the relentless sun, Ampris watched yet another batch of newcomers come stumbling into her pen.

It was getting very crowded now. She kept to herself, grateful to be left alone.

Then a group of three Aarouns with spotted fur and heavy shoulders gathered around her. Their eyes held only hostility, and their short round ears were flat to their skulls.

The one in the center gestured at her. “Clear out, female,” he said.

Ampris bared her teeth. “Why should I—”

They grabbed her and shoved her away bodily, causing her to stumble into a nearly grown Kelth, who growled in warning.

Ampris moved back swiftly and turned on the Aaroun males who had taken her place. Angry, she started toward them, but the Kelth gripped her arm.

“Don’t,” he said in quiet warning. “You can’t take them.”

The idea of fighting them fueled her anger. “They have no right to—”

He pulled her away. “Come over here.”

She tried to twist free of his grasp, but he tightened his hold.

She struggled harder. “Let go of me.”

“Don’t cause trouble. Stay quiet,” he told her.

“Let go of me!”

He glared at her. “You cause trouble, you cause a fight, the handlers’ll take you out and flay you. Want that, Goldie?”

Shocked, Ampris didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “How do you know?”

He rolled his eyes at her, a dirty youth with brindled, matted fur, alert, upright ears, and streetwise eyes. He seemed to know everything, and she knew nothing.

On the opposite side of the pen, a short distance from the benches, he elbowed a way for them next to the fence and crouched there.

“Here is better,” he said. He tugged at her wrist. “Sit. Make yourself slack.”

His coat was made of cheap, shiny cloth. It looked new, yet it was already fraying at cuffs and collar. One sleeve was torn. A curious odor hung on him, something spicy and attractive, but somehow repellent. She had never smelled anything like it before. Her instincts told her to avoid him.

Yet, his light brown eyes held a hint of kindness, the first she’d encountered in this place.

She sat on the ground beside him, a little wary of her newfound friend.

He was looking her over too, his gaze keen and appraising. “You look pretty pampered, Goldie. Ever been in the slave market before?”

“No.”

“Knew it.” He rubbed his muzzle in a quick nervous gesture. “Me neither.”

The confession made him somehow more likable. Ampris edged closer. “This is a horrible place.”

He glanced around. “Yeah, maybe. I’m called Elrabin. How about yourself?”

“Ampris.”

“Suits you, Goldie. Kind of fancy and . . . pretty,” he added almost shyly.

Ampris smiled.

He smiled back. “When do they grill the grub?”

She stared at him without comprehension. “I beg your pardon?”

“Food,” he snapped in exasperation. “You understand that?”

“Oh. We’re fed at sunset.” Ampris wrinkled her nose. “It’s terrible.”

He grunted and didn’t seem to believe her.

“I’m telling the truth,” she said. “It’s like garbage thrown away from the kitchens. Rotted, molded, stale—”

“Sounds like a feast,” he said, and made smacking sounds.

She couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious. “I couldn’t eat it last night. Now all I can think about is food. I’ve never been this hungry before.”

The sympathy died in Elrabin’s eyes. “Hungry? You been without food how long? A day? That’s nothing, Goldie.”

“It’s horrible!” she said. “You know nothing about how it feels to be—”

“Shut up,” he said fiercely. “Don’t look down your nose at me! You’re fat and sleek. You—”

“I am
not
fat!” she said with indignation. “I am in perfect condition.”

He scowled, unimpressed, and flung open his coat. “Feel my ribs.”

She hesitated, staring at him.

With a little growl of impatience, Elrabin seized her hand and thrust it against his side. She felt knobby ribs under his pelt of rough hair, with practically no flesh in between.

“Yeah,” he said, “and I been eating regular since I became a runner. Before that, I picked up garbage off the streets, fighting Skeks for it.”

“Skeks!” she said in horror.

He tilted his head to one side. “Where do you come from? You don’t know nothing. You don’t look like you’ve worked.”

“Worked?” She shook her head. “Of course not.”

“In this life, you either work, Goldie, or you steal.”

She straightened in indignation. “I am no thief. I would never take—”

“Stuff the howl,” he said in sharp scorn.

“What?”

“Be quiet.” Elrabin glanced around swiftly to see if anyone was paying attention to them. “You better learn faster, Goldie, or you’re finished. You follow?”

She frowned. “I’m not going to be here long. They’ll send for me.”

“Who? The fancy Viis family that owned you?”

Ampris lifted her chin with pride. “I am Ampris, closest friend and companion of the sri-Kaa.”

She expected him to be impressed, but his expression didn’t change.

He didn’t say anything either.

His refusal to believe her was an insult. “I lived in the palace,” she insisted. “All my life I have been at the sri-Kaa’s side.”

“So?”

She drew an impatient breath. “I have permission to speak Viis. I can read and write. I have—”

“So what’d you do?”

She stopped her boasting and blinked at him. “Do? Why, whatever the Imperial Daughter wanted to do. We—”

“No, stupid. You must have done something wrong. Something to get you sent here.”

Ampris felt fresh sorrow turn over inside her. She backed her ears.

“Just another of life’s injustices,” he said. His words were sympathetic, but his tone came out raw with anger. “You do your best and you still get slagged. You think you know someone, but you never do. It’s all a lie, Goldie. Everything is a lie.”

The bitterness in his voice was belied by the apprehension she saw lurking in his eyes. She understood then that his words were mostly bravado. Underneath his roughness, he was just as scared as she.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

The faraway look in his eyes faded, to be replaced by anger. “I’m here on an arrest charge.”

Ampris had never talked to anyone who’d been arrested before. She stared at him. “Are you a thief?”

Elrabin bared his teeth. “Nah. I’m above that, unless forced to it. I’ve played the cons and the scams with the best. Then I got in a spot, had to fall in with a gang, see? Had to work for them. So I became a dust runner.”

Ampris found him very strange, and not at all understandable. “Why would you run with dust?”

He threw back his head with shrill yips of laughter. “Gods, you’re no more streetwise than a newborn lit. How’ve you survived this long, not knowing anything?”

Then his eyes narrowed, and he gave her no chance to answer. “You honest?” he asked. “You talking straight about living in the palace, and all that?”

She nodded. “Everything is so different here.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” He looked at the crowded pen, at the milling, uneasy occupants, at the filth, at the fence.

Overhead, a group of Gorlicans walked across the top of the pen, pausing to point and gesture in earnest discussion.

Elrabin watched them a moment, then lowered his gaze to meet Ampris’s. “Those are buyers,” he said grimly. “They’re looking us over before the auction.”

“What auction?” Ampris said. “I don’t understand anything here. Please explain it to me.”

He shifted his gaze away from hers and started drawing aimlessly in the dust. “Never been sold before,” he muttered, and his voice sounded scared now. “Never worn an ownership number.”

She thought of her pretty ownership earring with Israi’s cartouche. Her ear felt naked and light without it. “It doesn’t have to be bad.”

He made no answer.

His fear increased Ampris’s own. She reached out and gently took his hand in hers.

“What’s going to become of us?” she asked.

Elrabin wouldn’t look at her, but he didn’t draw his hand away. “We’ll go in the sale,” he said, his voice tight and low. “We’ll be sold in the common market. They have different auctions for house slaves and highly skilled workers like that Zrhel over there.”

Ampris’s fingers tightened on his. “I remember being taken from my mother when I was very young, just a few days old. Now it’s like that is happening all over again. Israi is my family. I thought she would have come for me by now.”

Panting, he sent her a glance of pity. “So you’re really the one,” he whispered. “The one I’ve heard talked about. I even saw you once on the vid broadcast, riding in a parade or something. You’re the Imperial Daughter’s pet.”

“I am her
friend
,” Ampris said with pride.

“So why did she get angry at you and throw you out?”